Ah, haaha
Ah, haaha
Ah, haaha haaha haaha
The carcass of an elephant is not a load for the back of a child
But already I have bent my altruist’s spine
Offshoot of a primordial priest,
Your elegist steps in like a midnight rain
Casual as mid-morning pour
I have lit the ultimate candle of the passage rite
Ah, haaha…
The head of an elephant is not a load for the neck of a child
But the world should not victimise the loquacious dog for ts barking right
For if we do not bury the dead for the sake of God
We must bury the dead for the fear of stench:
Oluwere, the kingpin of trees,
Since the spirit of the dead must travel with the midnight stream
I have spread my iroko arms
For the burning pot of the ritual night
Ah, haaha …
Lasisribika,
Mutumuyate!
Iremoje is a litmus test for a teething poet
For far above a wedding song,
Far above a naming hymn
I dress in a cultic apparel
To dialogue in dirge with departed beings
But for the love of Oedipus
I might never have strained my eyes to the German stage
Caesar the legend lured my eyes to the courtyard of Rome
But for the bestial deed of the General’s rope
Whatever mouth would have summoned departed pens
For a poetry night?
But whatever befalls the sea befalls the fish
Whatever befalls the sky befalls the bird
Whatever befalls our tropical forest,
Befalls the acrobatic chimpanzees on the tropical trees.
Ah, haaha …
Death visited Abiiri
Abiiri has reaped the curse of the earth
Death visited Abiiri
Abiiri trod the path of the shroud.
Kenule Saro-Wiwa,
At the bank of the Benue,
In the heart of the Nun
We struck the cymbal without a sound
The gong has gone dumb in a festival of life
The only music in the trembling wind
Is the harsh knell from the General’s band.
Whatever befalls the eyes befalls the nose
Wherever is our own African sky
That boomed our barns at the harvest time?
Whatever befalls the back
Befalls the chest
Why are the gutters so open
With toxic breath of migrant oils?
Why is our arable earth so impotent
No more can ejaculate life into virile seeds?
Whatever befalls the sea befalls the fish:
You know we are a race of fishing icons
But you poisoned our rivers with spillage spree
Tell him who prospects our earth to think of our health
Think of the clans that are sick without a clinic
Jungle schools bereft of chalk
The road so narrow and harrowing with labyrinthine holes.
Whatever befalls the sea befalls the fish
Whatever befalls the sky befalls the bird
Whatever befalls our tropical forests
Befalls the acrobatic squirrels on the tropical trees.
Ah, haaha
Ah, haaha
Ah, haaha haaha haaha
An execrpt from Akeem Lasisi’s IREMOJE: Ritual poetry for Ken Saro-Wiwa. The award-winning collection is an experimentation with Yoruba hunter’s dirge, ‘iremoje’.
